


Dark Wings

by callay



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: M/M, Smut, Wings, wingkink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:58:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/pseuds/callay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex discovers why Michael doesn't let people touch his wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after 1x03.
> 
> I feel like it's a bit all over the place, but hey, wing smut!

The next time Alex sneaks out, it’s not to run away. It’s just to get away, for a moment, from Vega. From Claire who agreed to marry William Whele, from his friends who keep asking him what’s going on, and especially from Michael.

When Michael was injured, Alex was genuinely worried. At least he remembers being worried. But he can’t remember why, when Michael’s so insufferably obsessed with Alex’s business and so infuriatingly controlling.

But now Vega’s behind him and the open road’s in front of him and his troubles are nowhere to be seen. And for the first time in a while, Alex feels good.

And then, with a loud crash, something lands hard on the roof of his car.

Alex stomps on the brake and draws his blade all at once. Kicking open the door, he rolls out, craning his neck to see what’s attacking him –

Michael.

Alex drops his defensive posture but holds on to his weapon.

Michael jumps off the car, wings flapping once, and lands lightly in front of Alex. “We’re going back to Vega,” he says.

“No,” says Alex, brandishing the blade.

Michael steps forward and, in one smooth movement, disarms Alex, pulls him close by the belt, and sheathes his sword at his hip.

Michael’s proximity makes Alex nervous and he tries to step back. But before he can, Michael seizes him by the front of his shirt, and with a few powerful beats of his wings, launches them both into the air.

Alex’s stomach drops. No matter how many times Michael does this to him, he can’t get used to it. He’s in _mid-air_ , and the only thing keeping him from falling to his death is Michael, who has one hand gripping Alex’s shirt and the other wrapped around his torso. Alex’s head spins and he has several pressing questions.

“Where are we going?” he asks, raising his voice over the rush of air in his ears.

“Vega.”

“Are you okay to be doing this?” Alex can only imagine that flying and holding him up is putting a strain on Michael’s wound, healed or not.

“Yes, I’m fully healed.”

“What about the car?”

Michael doesn’t bother to answer that. Alex looks back down at it, shrinking to the size of a toy beneath them. And looking down was a mistake. The world seems to swim around him as he realizes the distance to the ground.

Dizzily he grasps at Michael’s back. His hands slip over Michael’s wings, close to the base. The feathers are silky and surprisingly warm under Alex’s hand, and he can feel the underlying strength, which is reassuring.

Except he feels Michael’s body stiffen against him. Heart in his throat, Alex moves his hands. Everyone knows that you don’t touch Michael’s wings.

“Sorry,“ he says.

“Don’t do it again,” says Michael. There’s something strange in his voice, a rough edge.

Alex looks at Michael’s face, curious. His eyes are focused on the walls of Vega, but to Alex they look wide and dark. Michael’s mouth is open like he’s breathing hard.

When he notices Alex’s gaze, Michael shuts his mouth and gives Alex a hard look. Alex stares back. Now he’s curious.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“No.”

“What’s the problem, then?” asks Alex. He shifts a hand up, just enough to play with the feathers on the bottom edge of Michael’s wing.

Michael inhales sharply and digs his fingers into Alex’s side. “Stop,” he says with the force of a command in his voice.

“Why?” Alex keeps his hand in place, feels it brushed by soft feathers with every beat of Michael’s wings.

“Because I’ll drop you.”

Alex doubts this, but he can’t help moving his hand away and glancing down nervously. Again, a mistake. They’ve reached Vega, all streets and lights and buildings like a scale model below. Alex’s stomach squirms.

He drags his gaze up. They’re almost at the tower where Michael lives, which seems to be their destination.

Michael flies them right through an open window into his bedroom. When he lets go of Alex, Alex finds his legs aren’t quite steady, and he stumbles and lands on the bed, hands splayed in front of him.

The bed is as good a place as any to sit and relish the feel of something solid under him. He turns over, sits up – and finds Michael right there in front of him, staring down at him.

Before Alex can do anything, Michael grabs his hair and forces his head back. “What exactly were you doing out there?” he asks.

Alex grits his teeth against the pain in his scalp. “Looking for eight-balls,” he lies.

“That is not your assignment,” says Michael, leaning in until their faces are close. His eyes burn into Alex’s. “Your safety is far more important now than a few eight-balls. You must _never_ leave Vega without my permission.”

Frustration washes over Alex. “I don’t give a fuck about your permission,” he growls. “I’m not yours to control.” He grabs the lapels of Michael’s black coat and leans up even closer, putting all of his anger and resentment into his look.

Except that at the same moment he leans up, Michael leans down, eyes narrowing as he opens his mouth to speak. They knock together, foreheads and noses. Alex can feel Michael’s sharp exhale against his face.

The moment is strangely awkward. Something is broken in their normal pattern of fighting, their way of circling each other without touching, and they don’t know what to do now.

Alex feels like he has a split second of warning – the gentle shift of Michael’s hand on the back of his head, maybe, or the deliberate way Michael closes his mouth – but it still happens too fast for him to react. There’s an atmospheric change, a sudden flip in the polarity of the room.

Alex finds himself flat on his back. Michael is on top of him, pressing him down.

And Michael is kissing him.

Michael’s lips are pressed hard against his, and then Michael’s tongue is in his mouth, solid and wet. Alex’s mind is struggling to figure out what’s going on, but his body is following right along like it’s practiced this, clutching at Michael’s back to pull him closer, sucking on his tongue.

“You’re mine,” hisses Michael, pulling back just enough to whisper it against Alex’s mouth. As he says it, his wings suddenly unfurl in a flurry of air and dark feathers. He makes an imposing figure, pinning Alex in place, framed by dark wings that shift slightly in time with every thrust of his tongue into Alex’s mouth.

Alex is lightheaded under Michael’s assault, barely getting enough air. What he feels is beyond pleasure, just a white-hot burn of need.

But he hears Michael’s words, _you’re mine_ , and fuck, no, this will not be how Michael gets him to submit. Alex has more pride than that.

He pushes on Michael’s torso, tries to bring up his legs to kick him off, but Michael has him completely locked down. His struggles only make Michael kiss more fiercely.

Alex grapples at Michael’s back until his hand lands on a feathery wing. He runs a hand down it, pressing hard.

The effect is immediate. Michael’s whole body freezes, except for his wings, which thrash under Alex’s touch. Michael’s breath is shaky against Alex’s mouth.

Pleased with the effect, Alex wraps both arms around Michael and puts his hands on Michael’s wings, near the base, fingers pressing into the warm feathers.

“Ah –“ gasps Michael aloud. He cuts himself off quickly, but not before Alex hears the tremor of need in his voice. 

Alex’s heart skips for a second as he understands.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes. “You _like_ this?”

He almost laughs, because he never would have expected that. But then he looks up at Michael’s face, and he doesn’t laugh.

Michael’s eyes are wide and dark and desperate. His soft lips, wet and red from kissing Alex, are parted. The lowered eyebrows and commanding look are gone. Written on his face is pure need.

Alex slides his hands down Michael’s wings, feeling the soft springy feathers and the warm skin underneath. Michael shudders and licks his lips, but he keeps his eyes open, locked on Alex’s.

“Alex, you shouldn’t – nngh – “

He squeezes his eyes closed, mouth falling open wordlessly, as Alex worms his fingers in between the feathers.

A thrill runs through Alex. He had wanted to show Michael that Michael couldn’t control him, but this – this is him in control. Him reducing Archangel Michael to a gasping mess. The sense of power is intoxicating.

Alex reaches up and grips the top edges of Michael’s wings, feeling the powerful structure under the layer of tightly-packed feathers. Both wings thrash under his touch, and Michael’s body suddenly spasms, hips rolling, thrusting against Alex.

Alex’s hips push up, eager for more contact even with their layers of clothing. His blood is burning with desire, the arousal he felt when Michael was kissing him multiplied by the giddy feeling of power. He wants Michael trembling and desperate for him.

But Michael opens his eyes, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and holds himself tense and still. “Alex, we shouldn’t do this.”

“You’re the one who kissed me,” points out Alex.

“That’s not what I’m talking about. There are many things you don’t understand –“

“About these?” asks Alex, carding through feathers.

“Yes,” says Michael breathlessly.

“Fine.” Alex pushes Michael off him. It’s hard to roll away from the heat of Michael’s body and get to his feet, but it’s worth it to see the look on Michael’s face when Alex looks down at him. “You want me to stop?”

For a moment Michael’s face clenches, lips pressed together. He looks almost like normal Archangel Michael, except for the flush high on his cheeks. Then his soft lips fall open and he says in a quiet voice, “Don’t stop.”

Alex can’t even breathe for a second, heart pumping the white-hot knowledge of Michael’s surrender through his body.

“Turn over,” he tells Michael, voice rough.

Michael’s dark eyes catch and hold on Alex’s for a moment, but then he looks away, presses his face into the velvety blankets. And he rolls over to lie on his stomach, wings flexing fitfully in the air.

Alex swallows and steps closer. He reaches out and trails his fingers down Michael’s wings, just the lightest of touches, but that’s enough for Michael to shudder and bite back a groan.

Heart pounding in his ears, Alex grabs at Michael’s shoulders, tries to pull off his coat. “Take this off,” he says hoarsely.

Michael shifts against the bed, working the coat off his shoulders and arms, but then it gets caught on his trembling wings. “Help me,” he grits out, struggling.

Alex does, trying to hold a wing still with one hand while guiding the coat off with the other. The wing keeps trying to flap out of his grip and his heart is beating too fast to be careful. His hand slips and rucks up the feathers along the top edge, but that just makes Michael gasp and squirm under him.

After one wing is free he has to do the other, and then he repeats the whole thing with Michael’s shirt.

By the time he’s done, Michael’s whole body is shaking. Even the smallest brush of Alex’s hand on his wings sets off a fit of twitching. Michael is moaning aloud now, voice quiet but thrumming with need.

Alex would think he would be used to this situation by now, but he’s not. Every sound from Michael is like a shock that spirals up through his whole body, making him feel light-headed and wild.

Trying to regain control, he stops to look at Michael for a second – the delicate edge of his hair on the back of his neck, the broad and strong contours of his back, the gentle curve where his lower back meets his ass. The base of his wings blend smoothly into his shoulder blades, rising from a nest of small black feathers.

Alex presses his fingers there, right at the join of wing and back, feels the muscle shift underneath. Michael cries out and his hips roll helplessly against the bed.

There’s a blinding twist of need in Alex’s belly and he reaches for his pants, fumbles them open.

“Alex,” groans Michael. “Are you going to –?” He finishes the question in the language of angels, voice deep and desperate.

“Yeah,” says Alex, even though he has no idea what Michael just asked.

That must be the right answer, because Michael gasps something Alex doesn't understand and his wings spasm, folding in close and then spreading.

Alex presses up against him and his aching cock meets the soft fabric of Michael’s pants. That’s not right, but when Alex reaches with shaking hands for Michael’s belt, he gets distracted by the burning heat of Michael’s skin and he has a better idea.

He clambers onto the bed, on top of Michael, trembling with nerves and excitement and the intensity of the entire situation. He squeezes his knees on either side of Michael’s torso.

And that’s another rush of power, straddling Michael like this, looking down at the helpless twitch of Michael’s wings.

He leans forward over Michael and drags the tip of his cock along the base of Michael’s wing.

“Feel that?” he asks Michael breathlessly.

Michael moans something incoherent into the blanket.

“I’m going to – fuck – going to come all over your wings,” Alex groans. It’s a rush to say it, to put words to one of the fantasies swirling in his head.

Desperately he closes his fist around himself. He angles his hips down, tilts his wrist to press his cock against Michael. The head is buried in the thick feathers at the base of Michael’s wing, slicking them with precome.

He starts to move, fucking into his fist, letting his cock slide against Michael. The soft brush of feathers feels unbearably good against his oversensitive skin.

Michael’s wings are beating the air, so hard it’s like Alex and Michael are in the eye of their own private tornado.

Everything is too intense. He can feel the heat of Michael's body through the silky feathers and Michael keeps making these broken sounds, somewhere between a moan and a sob.

It only takes a few more strokes before Alex’s body tightens, back arching up. He grits his teeth but doesn’t let himself close his eyes even when his orgasm rocks through him. He wants to see. 

His come spatters over Michael’s wings, strings of white, stark against Michael’s black feathers.

Panting, Alex runs a thumb through the mess on one wing, presses it into the feathers. Wants to mark Michael, wants him to remember this forever.

As his slick hand presses against Michael’s wing, Michael lets out a broken groan. His wings snap out stick-straight and tremble as he suddenly _shakes_ under Alex, body roiling against the bed. 

Alex just hangs on, still trying to catch his breath, until Michael stills.

Then Alex climbs off, steps back. His mind is clearer now and he’s starting to feel nervous. He always wanted to put Michael in his place, but he never imagined things going like this.

Alex is definitely not complaining, but he’s worried about how Michael will react.

Michael slowly turns over and seeing his face is like a punch to the gut. His face still looks flushed and dazed, but his eyes. His eyes are blown wide and dark and wet.

“Oh, shit,” breathes Alex. “Are you – did I hurt you?”

“I’m not hurt,” says Michael brusquely, standing and brushing the wetness from his cheeks.

He looks down at Alex, and for a moment they stare at each other. Michael’s expression is stern but his eyes have this look, like something inside him has been broken open. Alex’s heart is beating painfully in his chest but he doesn’t know what to say.

“What is this?” he asks finally.

Michael hesitates for a moment, and then the line of his mouth softens. He says something in the language of angels, a single word that curls off his tongue. When Alex looks at him blankly, Michael explains, “That’s the angelic word for intercourse involving wings.”

Alex feels a little embarrassed at Michael’s frank tone – even if they did just finish doing it – but he just nods.

Michael takes a deep breath and continues, “It’s something I haven’t done in many years. I…” He pauses, swallows. “For angels, it’s very… _intimate_.”

“Oh,” says Alex.

He stares up into Michael’s eyes, dark like a door into the night, and doesn’t know how to process that. _Intimate_.

He hadn’t wanted that, he thinks, heart pounding. He’d just liked the feeling of Michael’s body against his, just wanted to relieve some of the tension between them.

Except that was a lie. He’d _wanted_ to change the relationship between them, wanted to be the one in control. And he had gripped Michael’s wings tight and done just that.

He doesn’t know what will happen to them from here. But he can’t regret being here, standing close to Michael in a room that smells like sex, Michael looking at him but not commanding him or arguing with him, just waiting for his response.

He wraps a hand around the back of Michael’s head and leans up into a kiss.

Something like a smile softens Michael’s eyes, and he leans down, and they meet halfway.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Крылья цвета тьмы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157381) by [Anya_Sfinks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anya_Sfinks/pseuds/Anya_Sfinks)
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